He spotted the chainsaw on the floor, still whirring away, in the puddle of shattered flesh where the Hell Knight had been, as if the machine were hungrily trying to chew up the remains, sputtering black blood…and then it shut down.
Reaper got his feet under him, feeling strength and coordination returning to his souped-up body, and scooped up the chain saw, started it, again revving it up and delighting in the roar of power as the Pinky-thing chomped down on the pipe, sending it ripping through its upper jaw.
It charged, and Reaper jabbed the chain saw at it, missing aim and cutting only through the extruding pipe. He sidestepped like a bullfighter, and raked at the Pinky-thing as it came back around, clawing and snapping — and this time Reaper connected, catching it just above the cyberchair.
The boar-demon was stuck on the chain saw, unable to advance, slashing but missing Reaper as the blade chewed down again and again, slicing deep, until the Pinky creature went limp in the cyberchair and fell into three sagging segments of bloody flesh.
The saw sputtered to a stop, choked with bone and sinew.
Reaper — a bit horrified at how little he felt at what he had just done — dropped the chain saw in disgust and turned to hurry from the room, distantly aware that his own upper half was liberally splashed with blood from the Hell Knight and Pinky…and from his own ravaged shoulder. He glanced down at it — the wound was already healing.
He stopped at the door, turned for one last look at what remained of Pinky. I put the poor bastard out of his misery.
Right now he had to find Sam…and if he was going to get to her alive, he was going to have to arm himself.
Reaper ran back to the shelves where the Hell Knight had found the chain saw. Felt around on them, found a handheld plasma cannon — then remembered the other demons that’d been crouching in that room.
He hadn’t gotten them all with that pressure blast from the fire extinguisher. They’d been waiting in the darkness as he fought the Hell Knight and Pinky — waiting for the outcome. He heard them chattering, rushing toward him, and brought the plasma cannon into play just as they charged him from the dark corners of the storage room.
He fired three times fast, the first blindly, the second and third using the light from the plasma cannon to place his shots. The creatures were caught in the energy beams at close range, their limbs melting away, heads frying, brains boiling out their eye sockets, dancing with agony — and collapsing.
Reaper tried to fire once more to make sure — but the plasma cannon announced that it was out of power. He dropped it — and looked around till he found the light machine gun he’d dropped when the Hell Knight had charged him. He found a couple of clips in his ammo pouch, reloaded it, and returned to the corridor, looking for the elevators…
There they were. The elevator lobby. The lockdown indicator flashed red. They were still inoperable.
That’s when he heard a shout. Someone farther down the hallway, calling his name.
“John!”
It was his sister’s voice.
Twenty-One
REAPER STOPPED DEAD, staring at a scene of blistering carnage.
The hallway wall here was broken down, opening out into an impromptu charnel house, choked with bodies. The crust of the wall steamed and smoked and glowed; beyond the wall, what light there was came from embers and sparks raining from the broken ends of dangling electrical wires twitching against one another. Looking closer, Reaper decided that the walls had been melted down. The BFG had done this.
Corridor was blended into room and piled high in both were bodies. Human and demons, mixed up in heaps, tangled, united in blood — black blood swirling with red.
It was a prophecy of human destiny: men and monsters intermingled, fused in death. Great holes were melted in the ceiling, too — molten metal, from cooked pipes and ducts and wires, dripped down on the layered heaps of bodies, a mercuric icing on a grisly cake.
Sam’s voice had come from in here somewhere.
“John…”
There it was again. But where was she? He aimed his gunlight into the shadows — and spotted her, slumped against a wall.
“Sam!”
He ran to her, jumping over bodies as if they were rocks on a path. He reached her side, hunkered down, taking her hands in his — making her wince. She was bruised, bloodied, her hands skinned to raw flesh. She looked up at him weakly, trembling, relief, even happiness in her eyes — but also warning.
“You’re alive…” she whispered.
“Don’t talk. Please…”
Sarge’s voice came from behind. “Last man standing, Reaper…”
Reaper stood, turned to peer into the shadows. Sarge stepped forward into the fluttering, multicolored light. He’d been using Sam as bait.
Sarge chuckled, as he said, “Think she needs medical attention…” As if there was something funny in the remark.
Reaper could see the wound on Sarge’s neck; the beginning of the change in his face. “Where are those survivors the Kid found?” Reaper asked.
“I took care of them.” Sarge smiled faintly. “Just dotting the i’s.” He glanced at his watch. “Quarantine’s almost over. Power should be back on any minute.”
Reaper got it now. He knew where he stood with Sarge. “You killed the Kid…”
“We’re all killers here, Reaper. That’s what they pay us for.”
Reaper’s hand tightened on his weapon. He wondered if he could get a shot off before Sarge did.
But he didn’t think there was much hope of catching Sarge by surprise: he was all animal wariness. It twitched in his fingers; it gleamed in his eyes.
The overhead lights blinked, and a female voice intoned from the public address system:
“Quarantine complete…All systems to normal. Elevators back online…”
The emergency lighting switched off — and with only a flutter of darkness, were replaced by the main lights, going on in sequence down the long hallways.
Sarge glanced at the ceiling. He grinned. “It’s finished. What do you say…we get some air?”
Reaper stared. What did he mean?
Then it became evident — as Sarge’s gloves split open, like fruit swelling in the heat, with the sudden deformation of his hands. The skin splitting open…Sarge going rigid with the agony of transformation…
Now, Reaper told himself. Kill him now, before he’s done changing. While he’s distracted by the pain…
But he couldn’t bring himself to shoot Sarge down in cold blood like that; like the way Sarge had killed the Kid.
“Sam,” Reaper said, keeping his eyes on Sarge, “can you get to the elevator?”
“I’m not sure…”
“Try.”
Sam got wearily to her feet. Reaper sidled between Sarge and the door Sam was going to have to go through, to cover her escape.
All the while Sarge was mutating. Growing. Muscles pushing through his clothes. Skin going raw; hands becoming talons; jaws widening…eyes reddening…
Something inside him, Reaper thought, is coming to the outside. That’s what it’s all about…The interior demon finally coming out…
Sam slipped out the door behind Reaper. The moment had come…
Sarge stopped trembling. Ducked his head like a bull, looking at Reaper from within cavelike sunken eyes. His voice was an inhuman rumble: “You going to shoot me?” Asked as if unconcerned. Almost amused.
“Yeah, I was thinking about it,” Reaper admitted.
Sarge looked at Reaper’s gun. “What have you got left?”